Fifty Years of 221B
by somanyhands
Summary: My new series - Fifty Years of 221B. A series of 221B fics, starting just before Sherlock and John meet and working through 50 years, Obviously it will be non-canon (ie made up!) from the end of season 2.
1. 2009

Gunshot rang in his ears, and a blinding pain overcame his whole body.

"I'm hit, I'm hit!" he shouted, crouching down behind a broken wall. He could feel himself fading, but he could still hear the screams and shouts of his comrades.

"I have to get out there and help!" John yelled to the junior medic who came to attend him. He pushed the young man's trembling hands away and tried to crawl away from his cover spot towards two other fallen soldiers.

His attempt to get onto all fours failed as his left shoulder crumbled beneath him. "Shit!" he mumbled weakly as everything went dark.

Captain John Watson was later invalided home from Afghanistan.

* * *

"We are releasing your brother tomorrow, Mr Holmes." the doctor said nervously, studying his notes. "Despite his initial resistance, he has made good progress, and we think he would be better recovering in his home environment now."

Mycroft nodded. Sherlock had been in rehab for 7 months, since Greg Lestrade had discovered him during a drugs bust in Soho. He had instantly called the young Holmes' brother, and Mycroft had used his considerable power and influence to get Sherlock the best treatment available.

"I shall arrange for him to stay here in London with me." Mycroft informed the doctor.

* * *

And so there were two new beginnings.


	2. 2010

John just wanted it all to end.

The pain, the suffering, the emptiness. It was all too much.

"John. John Watson!" the portly man shouted. John tried to ignore him, but he was insistent.

John hadn't seen Mike Stamford since their days at St. Bart's.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?" Mike asked, keeping pace with the ex-Army doctor.

"Got shot." John replied, blankly.

The old friends shared a coffee and caught up with each other's lives.

"Who'd want me for a flatmate?" John quipped.

Turned out, Mike knew exactly who.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street."

Suddenly, John had so much to live for.

Four suspicious suicides.

"It's a three-patch problem!"

A dead cabbie with John on the firing end of the gun.

An orange blanket.

Chinese smugglers and a travelling circus.

Sarah.

A 9 million pound hairpin.

"Bored!"

Head in the fridge.

Top secret files.

Five pips.

Jim Moriarty.

_Ah yes_, Sherlock thought, "Something new."

A bomber; a nemesis; Jim Moriarty.

And then the pool.

Jim has John. A bomb strapped to his body.

No! Not John!

Consulting criminal. Brilliant!

"Are you okay?", Sherlock asks anxiously.

He cares. Why does he care? John is his friend.

"Catch you later."

"People might talk." John jokes.

At least they're not bored.


	3. 2011

Sherlock finds John's presence calming.

Like an antidote for the poison that no longer runs through his veins.

A poison he no longer needs; no longer wants

Not now that he has John.

John becomes his blogger. The voice of 221B.

The voice of Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Detective.

John immerses himself in work and Sherlock.

He tried dating. There was Jeanette and Sarah and a few others but really, there's only Sherlock.

Sherlock and his experiments; his habits; his whirlwind temperament; the Belstaff; the deer-stalker; that purple shirt.

John and Sherlock. Sherlock and John.

Flatmates; friends; partners in fighting crime.

Lestrade sees it first.

The change.

He remembers the Sherlock who went in to rehab, and he saw the Sherlock who came out.

Then he looks at the Sherlock before him now.

Calmer; more tempered. Still brilliant but more focused.

He knows it is John.

He looks at them and he sees two friends who need each other.

More than either of them realises.

They are the missing half of each other's whole.

Mycroft notices it too.

Sherlock has always been petulant; arrogant; impulsive.

But lately, his brother thinks before speaking; before deducing; before unraveling people's lives.

He sees Sherlock look at John for approval, and he witnesses John, time and time again, giving it to him.

"Incredible!"

"Amazing!"

"Fantastic!"

"Brilliant!"


	4. 2012

It all started with "The Woman".

Sherlock didn't see it, of course, but John did. Clear as day.

Irene Adler. The woman who rocked Sherlock's world.

Sherlock might have seen what Irene thought she had hidden, but Irene, she saw what Sherlock couldn't.

She saw Sherlock and John.

John and Sherlock.

Two halves of the whole.

Sherlock first felt it at Baskerville.

There was inappropriate behaviour.

"I don't have _friends!_"

And fear.

For the first time in ages, Sherlock felt fear.

Fear that he couldn't control everything; couldn't see everything.

Fear that he might push John away.

"I've just got one."

Make it right, Sherlock, make it right again.

Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.

Sherlock watches John as he takes the commanding position.

His strong, upright John.

Steady, reliable John.

And he feels it.

Just the start of something.

Something new.

John doesn't notice at first. He doesn't see what Sherlock sees; feel what Sherlock feels.

What John does see is a battle.

Between Sherlock and Moriarty.

Between good and evil.

Evil wins. How can evil win?

That's not how it's supposed to go.

He watches Sherlock decline.

He watches him slip back.

"Alone protects me."

"I'm a fake."

No. No, Sherlock, you're not. I know you.

And then John sees him fall.

In that split second, he knows; believes.


	5. 2013

"My best friend... Sherlock Holmes... is..." John couldn't say it. He couldn't. Ella knew, of course. John knew that she did. Even so, she made him say it.

"...dead."

* * *

Sherlock ran across the road, ducking behind an old sedan when he thought that his quarry might spot his approach. He didn't need to worry though. His target was slow; ignorant; unsuspecting.

He rounded the corner after the man and slowed down as he neared the doorway. Slipping the silenced pistol out of his jacket pocket, he raised it to the man's head, pulling the trigger without hesitation.

"One." he told himself. One closer to returning home. To returning to John.

* * *

John visited Sherlock's grave every Sunday. Mrs Hudson had stopped coming with him now.

"Time to move on, John." she said kindly, laying a flower next to the headstone and placing a hand on the doctor's arm. "It's what he'd have wanted."

John shrugged the kind gesture free, shaking his head.

"I can't." he said, stooping the straighten the bloom, setting it parallel against the line of the shiny black stone.

"I have to clear his name."

Mrs Hudson nodded. She knew he wouldn't stop visiting, and she knew he would never stop fighting.

John Watson's mission was clear. He had to make everybody understand. He had to make them believe.


	6. 2014

"And so, we have irrefutable evidence that Jim Moriarty was indeed real and was the man responsible for many crimes in this country. Crimes that were ultimately solved by Sherlock Holmes."

John listened to Greg's calm announcement on the breaking news channel.

Eighteen months it had taken him.

Eighteen months of hunting and investigating to finally clear Sherlock's name.

He sat alone in 221B and stared at the empty seat in front of him.

"We did it, Sherlock." he said, holding the union flag pillow close to his chest. "We did it."

* * *

Sherlock peered through the sight of the sniper rifle he had rested on the windowsill. His target was moving through the apartment opposite, his girlfriend in the next room.

It wasn't an ideal situation. A witness to the assassination. It was necessary though. Sherlock had spent nearly 11 months tracking down this target, eventually locating him in Brazil.

He settled himself and brought his target into sight. Taking a deep breath in, he slowly curled his finger against the trigger.

"Two." he counted. Two down, only one more to go.

Only one more potential gunman to bring down, and then it would be safe to return to London; to John.

He double-checked the man was still down, packed up his things and made a hasty exit from the building.


	7. 2015

"The name's Mary. Mary Morstan."

John smiled at the woman who had sat down beside him at the bar.

"John Watson. Drink?" he offered, standing politely as Mary sat.

* * *

Sherlock took a deep calming breath. He needed to control himself. He had been hiding; chasing; hunting for so long.

Nearly three years away, and it came down to this. This one last target.

His mark, one Sebastian Moran: the gunman who had been instructed to target John.

He was tired, but he couldn't screw this up. He had to make this right.

He sidled along the wall, nearing his prey and taking another long breath before rounding the corner and coming up behind Moran, grabbing his head and twisting his neck.

As his body slumped to the ground, limp and lifeless, Sherlock began sobbing as he ran faster and faster.

"Three!" he shouted into the city night. "Three, John. I'm coming home!"

* * *

"Do you, John Hamish Watson, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife...?"

The vicar smiled at the couple as they shared their vows and their first married kiss.

Family and friends clapped and cheered, throwing confetti and showering the newlyweds with gifts.

* * *

As Sherlock entered 221B, he could sense that something had changed. Something was different. There was more. Someone else.

"John", he said quietly, "I'm back."


	8. 2016

Sherlock looked around the void of 221B.

It wasn't the same without John.

It felt wrong.

It felt empty.

Two weeks after Sherlock's return, John had moved his things out of Baker Street and into his and Mary's small marital home in the suburbs.

"It'll be fine, Sherlock." he had tried to reassure the detective. "It's just closer to the surgery, and I will still come any time you need me outside of work."

John paused, noticing his friend's disbelieving look. "Nothing will change, Sherlock."

Minutes later, John had left 221B with the remainder of his belongings, and Sherlock was left alone.

He sat in his armchair, holding the union flag cushion against his chest.

If he breathed in really hard, he could just about still make out John's scent in the seams.

* * *

"Have you spoken to Sherlock lately?" Mary asked as John came in from work and set his bag down in the hall.

"Sherlock?" John questioned, raising his eyebrow at his wife. "Why?"

Mary shrugged.

She was enjoying married life in their own home.

They both had stable jobs; a steady income; a good social life, but she couldn't help thinking there was something missing.

Something John was missing.

Someone John was missing.

She could see it in his eyes.

It was almost as if he was still bereaved.


	9. 2017

"No John?" Greg asked, watching Sherlock pace the crime scene alone, his Belstaff billowing out behind him.

Mention of his former flatmate's name stopped Sherlock dead in his tracks. He swung around and approached Greg. "Have you spoken to him recently, Detective Inspector?" he asked, getting just a little too close for comfort.

Greg took a step backwards before answering. "He called me this morning. Asked how you were doing." he replied honestly.

Sherlock turned back to the body laid out on the carpet.  
"If he'd really wanted to know how I was doing", he replied flatly, making his way towards the exit, "he could have asked me himself."

* * *

"I'm meeting Greg tonight", John told his wife as they cleared away the dinner dishes.  
As the last of the plates were put away, he headed upstairs to change.  
Re-entering the living room some time later, John leaned down to Mary, giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

"I'll be back by about 11.30." he said before pulling on his jacket and headed out.

* * *

"Pint?" Greg asked, watching John pull up a stool at the bar alongside him.  
John nodded, "Please." he replied, nodding his thanks to the barmaid as she set it down in front of him.

"John", Greg began, hesitantly. "Sherlock's not good. It's happening again. He's slipping back."


	10. 2018

Mary sighed and glanced at the clock as John climbed into bed behind her. 3am.

That was the third time this week.

If she didn't know better, she would think he was having an affair.

Except she did know better.

* * *

They ran faster along the dark London streets: Sherlock in front, his doctor and blogger trailing not far behind.

As Sherlock rounded the corner, the shadow they were chasing stood in front of them, gun raised towards Sherlock's head.

John slipped back and diverted to come up behind the serial rapist and mugger, approaching via a parallel side street.

"Drop it!" he commanded calmly and coolly, raising his own weapon.

Greg was quick on the scene, cuffing the man responsible for 12 attacks that week.

He smiled at the two men who stood leaning against the wall, breaths heavy but laughing.

As they took a steady walk back to Baker Street, John smiled to himself.

"Just like old times." he said, turning to Sherlock and noticing him stop for a fraction of a second before he fell back in step with John.

* * *

Mary glanced at the clock again as John climbed into bed behind her. 3.30am.

That was the seventeenth time this month.

If she didn't know better, she would think he was having an affair.

Except she did know better.


	11. 2019

Doctor John Watson is a good man. He is faithful and loyal and he cares about his wife very much.

And he tries, he really does. He tries to be a good husband; to hold their lives together.

He sees the damage their work can do to a relationship.

He sees Greg's marriage finally fail and watches him move out of their family home, leaving a bitter ex-wife and two children.

So John always comes home at the end of the night.

Back to their family home; to their bed; to his wife.

* * *

"I really should get back, Sherlock." John says, stepping into the taxi at New Scotland Yard.

John had left work early to meet Sherlock and Greg at the Yard to give official statements on a case they had recently wrapped up.

The whole affair had lasted much longer than it was supposed to and, before anybody realised it, it was 7am the following morning.

"Mary will be worried." John justified. "I really should go."

Sherlock nods, instructing the cab driver to stop at John's house first.

* * *

John opens the front door and frowns.

There are suitcases. Two of them. Packed.

"Are we going away?" he asks Mary, hanging his coat in the hall.

"They're yours." She looks at him, eyes low and face sad.

"It's for the best."


	12. 2020

"The divorce papers came through." Sherlock deduced with one look at John and the unopened letter in his hand.

John reached for the letter opener, slowly and deliberately slipping it along the top of the envelope.

He carefully pulled out the sheets, unfolding them almost in slow motion as he sat down.

Clearing his throat, he screwed up his eyes and re-opened them before reading.

A couple of minutes later, he meticulously re-folded the paper, sliding it back into the envelope and placing it down on the desk.

He looked at Sherlock and nodded.

"Tea?"

* * *

"So how's things with you and Sherlock?" Greg asked, sliding a pint across the table to John.

The booth they were sitting at was quite private and Greg was hoping that John would speak freely.

He had watched the doctor bottle up his feelings after Mary had asked him to leave, and he knew from experience that if John would open up, he might feel better for it.

"Yeah, good." John replied absently. "Things are... fine."

He traced his finger down the condensation of the glass, leaving wet swirly streaks.

"The decree absolute came through." he said blankly, only briefly glancing up at Greg before lifting his glass.

Greg nodded. He understood. He'd been there.

He raised his pint. "To new beginnings!"


	13. 2021

"Sherlock", John shouted, as he climbed the stairs to 221B with the day's mail in his hands, "Did you know about this?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up. He'd been waiting for this.

"About what?" he asked, feigning ignorance with a wry smile.

"Mycroft and Greg are getting married! Don't tell me you had no idea about this!"

John held out the designer invitation: crisp cream-coloured card decorated with silver doves and scrolls.

Sherlock stood and approached John, taking the notelet and reading it.

A wide smile slowly spread across his face.

"I had my suspicions." he finally answered, passing the invitation back to his flatmate. "They have been together for nearly 15 months."

"I know", John crossed to the desk, grabbing a pen to fill out the RSVP, "but marriage? I had no idea they were even considering it."

Sherlock glanced sideways at the doctor, gauging his reaction to the announcement.

John noticed the look and flashed back a smile.

"I presume you will go?" he asked Sherlock, suddenly wary that it might be the type of social event that his flatmate would hate.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and watched John hover over the invitation, pen at the ready.

"We'll go together?" the detective asked, suddenly sounding less certain of himself.

John returned to filling in the RSVP.

"Brilliant!"


	14. 2022

"Sherlock!"

Greg ran across the street, his weapon raised in front of him.

He stopped briefly to catch his breath before pushing open the door.

"Sherlock?!" he shouted again, taking the stairs two at a time and shouldering his way into 221B's living room.

Sherlock was sat with his back against the upended coffee table, cuts and bruises on his face being tended to by a very concerned-looking Doctor John Watson.

"John!" Greg remarked in surprise, "I thought you were at work?"

John lifted the damp towel from Sherlock's face and began stitching a deep cut on the younger man's forehead.

"Yeah, I was." John answered, cringing at the hiss his touch elicited from Sherlock. "Sorry." he mumbled.

"Sherlock texted me. We have a code." John lowered his hand and tipped his head to thoroughly check over his flatmate. "He indicated that he was in trouble, and I came home as soon as I could." he continued, nodding at his handiwork.

"Right. Well, we got reports of a disturbance and somebody being armed. I wasn't sure what to expect." Greg trailed off, sitting down in an armchair.

"He got away." Sherlock said, wincing at the pain in his cheek as he spoke.

John looked at Sherlock. "You OK?" he asked, placing a hand on his arm.

Sherlock smiled. "I will be."


	15. 2023

"So, you two then?" Greg smiled at John, pushing the doctor his pint across the table and taking a long drink of his own.

John turned and grinned at Greg before getting back to his own pint and downing a good third of it.

"Yup." John dropped his glass back on to the table, nodding.

He could barely believe it himself really.

Him and Sherlock.

A couple.

He shook his head, chuckling to himself.

Who'd have thought it? Straight, heterosexual, not-gay, not-his-boyfriend, not-his-date John Watson in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes.

"Crazy, isn't it?" he added.

John shot a sideways look at Greg to find him smirking equally crazily.

The doctor shrugged and continued. "I know. I know. I just didn't see it before."

Greg nodded.

Of course, Greg knew.

Mycroft knew.

Hell, even Sherlock knew months, if not years before John finally realised.

But they all had to wait. Years they waited.

Through a fake suicide, a return, a marriage and a divorce, they waited for John to be ready

* * *

"Sherlock." Mycroft nodded an acknowledgement to his brother as he entered his office at the Diogenes Club.

"Mycroft." Sherlock responded, flinging himself on the oversized wing back chair.

"So", Mycroft continued, handing Sherlock a glass of the best Scotch.

"You finally got your doctor. I am pleased for you, brother."


	16. 2024

It was 8.30pm and John was running late. Surgery had gone on for much longer than expected with 4 urgent patients arriving late in the evening.

"Sherlock?" John called out as he climbed the stairs to 221B, "Do you want me to order Chinese for dinner?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

_Funny_, John thought. He wasn't expecting Sherlock to be out, and the detective hadn't sent John a message to indicate that he might be.

John slowed his ascent of the last couple of stairs and felt his heartbeat start to quicken with nerves.

"Sherlock?" he called again, this time much quieter and with a lot more concern.

As he opened the door to 221B's living room, the only thing he saw was the body of the young Holmes, slumped on the the floor with his head against the coffee table.

* * *

"How are you feeling today?" John asked, grabbing the detective's hand and sitting himself on the hard plastic hospital chair alongside the bed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the inane question that he had been asked numerous times already that day.

He was pleased to see John though, and he smiled at his friend.

"I'm fine." he replied, laying his free hand over his lover's. "Can I go home yet?"

John gave a placating smile. "As soon as we're sure you're better."


	17. 2025

"Did you ask him?" John turned to Sherlock as he reached down the tea caddy and dropped in two teabags.

Sherlock groaned and flung himself down onto one of the kitchen chairs to await his tea and toast.

"You know I'm not good at that sort of thing, John. Can't you ask him?" The detective spoke in an almost begging tone, like John was asking him to do the impossible.

"Oh, Sherlock." John sighed, putting the two mugs down on the table and slipping four slices of bread into the toaster.

Sherlock gave his best pout and puppy-dog-eyes combo, and John laughed.

The doctor raised his hands in defeat.

"Fine, fine," he chuckled, grabbing the popped slices and spreading them with butter. "I'll do it."

* * *

Greg raised an eyebrow as John entered the pub and motioned for the DI to join him at one of the nearby booths.

"Two pints, love." he requested from the barmaid before crossing to join the doctor and sliding in alongside him.

"John." Greg nodded. There was something strange about John's demeanour. He looked anxious, but he had an odd smile on his face.

"Greg." John replied, waving his thanks to the barmaid as their pints arrived at the table.

"I was wondering", he continued, taking a long drink for courage, "Would you be our bestman?"


	18. 2026

John quickly ended the call as Sherlock sauntered into the living room at 221B, flinging himself down onto the sofa.

"Who was that?" he asked of his husband.

John replied with a quizzical eyebrow raise. "Who was what?"

"I am not deaf or stupid, John. Who was that on the phone?" Sherlock's patience was thin.

He was on edge this week. John had noticed, Greg had noticed, and even Mycroft had been giving his little brother a wide berth in recent days.

John rolled his eyes and decided to placate his lover.

"Greg called to ask if we wanted to go out to the pub tomorrow night, that's all. I told him you'd probably rather have a quiet night in. He was fine about it."

A grunt as Sherlock rolled himself to face the back of the tatty worn sofa, was the only response John got.

* * *

Sherlock pushed open the door to 221 and stomped up the stairs.

"Shhhhhhh", someone said as the muttering sounds in the darkness became a little louder than they ought to, "He'll hear us."

Molly giggled and clamped a hand over her mouth.

They silently counted the steps up to 221B, and John did a quick scan of the room. It looked good.

As Sherlock elbowed open the living room door, everybody shouted.

"Happy 50th Birthday!"


	19. 2027

"You've really never thought about it?"

Sherlock traced random patterns on the soft skin of John's stomach with his finger. He loved lazy Sunday mornings.

John rolled his head sideways to meet his husband's inquisitive eyes.

"Well", the doctor started, giving Sherlock a reassuring smile that showed the detective that what John said next would be nothing but the truth, "I'd be lying if I said I'd never given it any consideration, but it isn't something that is going to just happen for us, is it?"

Sherlock looked deep into those blue eyes and nodded.

"I know, John." He said, his frown giving away the fact that he was clearly trying to deduce John's feelings about that. "However, there are avenues that we can investigate. Ways around it... if it's something you wanted, that is?"

The question was subtle but evident. John raised himself up onto an elbow and looked down at his husband; his lover; his life.

"Sherlock?"

The scrutiny became too much for the Holmes, and he turned his head away a little, closing his eyes.

John reached out his free hand and coaxed the head back around again.

"Sherlock", he repeated, leaning in to place a soft kiss on the frown lines between Sherlock's eyes.

"You've thought about this, haven't you?" John continued, smiling. "You want a baby."


	20. 2028

"John! John! Wake up!"

The frantic shouting rang through 221B, and John woke to Sherlock pacing across their bedroom as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Calm down, Sherlock." John mumbled, rolling himself into a sitting position and rubbing his hands across his face. He frowned as he glanced at the bedside clock. "5.30am? What on earth...?"

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks and swivelled to face his husband, the panic on his face clearly visible.

For a long moment, he couldn't formulate words. His brain wasn't working, his mind felt like a scramble of words, feelings and emotions, and he just stood there, mouth opening and closing of its own accord.

Finally, he shook himself out of the stupor with a growl. He approached the bed just as John made to stand, and grabbed hold of his husband's arms, his face serious.

"Sherlock, you're scaring me. What is it?" John was getting really freaked out now. He'd never seen Sherlock quite this rattled and out of control.

The detective took a long, calming breath and swallowed around a lump forming in his throat before leaning in to press a long kiss to his husband's warm lips.

"We have to go now, John! Pack a bag for the hospital. Molly went into labour! We are having a baby!"


	21. 2029

"Right, Sherlock, you know where the nappies and wipes are, yes?"

No response.

"There are bottles of baby formula made up in the fridge, and there are several tubs of baby food on the top shelf. Mrs Hudson made some meals for us. You will need to warm it up first but make sure it's not too hot before you..."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and turned to look at his husband's worried face.

"John", he began, raising himself up from his position laid on the floor alongside their son, "I am perfectly capable of looking after Hamish while you are at work. We have been doing this together for the past 10 months, have we not?"

John let out a long breath. He was panicking unreasonably, he knew. It was his first day back at the surgery since Hamish had been born, and he was anxious about leaving their son.

He knew Sherlock was perfectly capable. He just really didn't want to leave either of them.

He crossed the living room to where his husband stood by the kitchen doorway, jiggling their son effortlessly on his hip.

John smiled at the sight. He never imagined that it was possible to feel so much love for these 2 incredible people.

"I'm sorry." he said, kissing each forehead in turn, "You'll be brilliant."


	22. 2030

"Did you go to your appointment this morning?" John shouted through to Sherlock as he flicked on the kettle.

Sherlock's long sigh was answer enough, but John poked his head around the kitchen doorway anyway.

"Sherlock?"

The detective raised his head from the book he was reading to Hamish and looked at his husband.

"Of course I did, John." he replied, giving his greatest impression of being insulted at being checked up on. "Nothing new to report." he concluded, returning to continue the story of Long John Silver and Treasure Island.

"Piece of Eight, Daddy Sherlock!" Hamish giggled.

John stopped for a while to watch the pair seated on the sofa.

Sherlock with his dark floppy locks and Hamish with his thick blonde mop.

While Hamish looked every bit like John, he was starting to pick up Sherlock's traits, and John loved to watch them together.

He bit his bottom lip and fought back the sadness; the thought that Sherlock - friend; lover; husband; father - might not get to see his son grow up.

He couldn't dwell on such thoughts though. Sherlock's condition was manageable, and there was every possibility that he would go on to live a long and happy life.

John returned to make the teas, holding the vision of the two in his head.

It was bittersweet.


	23. 2031

"There's a new medication." Doctor Carter said, pulling a flyer from her file and sliding it across the desk to John.

Sherlock looked up from the kid's play corner where he was sitting with Hamish, running plastic cars along the lines in the tiled floor.

"John?" he asked, sounding for all the world more like a two-year-old than their son.

John scanned over the leaflet and looked back at Doctor Carter. "How successful has it been?" he asked, glancing briefly back at his husband and son.

Doctor Carter pulled another sheet from her file and began studying it. "Sixty to seventy percent." she said calmly, passing the chart across to John who had gone in to Doctor mode himself.

He looked over the chart for a moment before pushing it back to her again.

"They're not bad odds, Sherlock." he began as Sherlock stood and sat in the chair next to him.

"Side effects?" the detective questioned, giving Hamish a sideways glance and noticing he was still playing obliviously with the cars.

"Few of note." Doctor Carter replied, "Mainly nausea, some vision problems, headaches, possible stomach ulcers. Your tumour is very slow-growing, and these are all possible advanced tumour symptoms anyway..." she trailed off, looking from John to Sherlock.

John turned to Sherlock, taking his hand, "You and your stupid brain."


	24. 2032

"But he's only three, John!" Sherlock frowned at the doctor, pulling Hamish into a tight hug as if it would save him from it all.

"Sherlock." John's voice had that tone it took when he was trying to coax either his husband or their son into doing something they didn't want to, "He may be only three but we have to get his name on the school list early to ensure he gets a place."

Sherlock looked at Hamish and pouted. He didn't want their son to go to school at all. He couldn't imagine what on earth he would do with himself all day if Hamish wasn't around.

"He doesn't need school." Sherlock finally declared. "I can teach him!"

John let out a barking laugh and then cut it short when he saw the seriousness of Sherlock's face. He actually believed it was a viable suggestion.

"Oh, Sherlock." he began, placing a kiss on the detective's cheek, "My love, You? Teach our son? What would you teach him? Because it certainly wouldn't be about the solar system!"

"Not important!" Sherlock retorted, "I could teach him everything that is important though." His voice trailed off, he knew it wasn't really a good idea, but he would miss Hamish so much.

"I'll miss him." the detective continued quietly. "He's our little boy."


	25. 2033

"We should tell Mycroft and Greg together." John passed Sherlock his tea and settled himself next to his husband on the sofa.

Sherlock nodded, swapping the yellow crayon for the green one and starting to colour in the grass while Hamish continued working on the sky.

"What do you think, Hamish?" he asked his son who looked up at Sherlock with John's eyes. "Do you think we should invite Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg over for dinner tonight?"

Hamish dropped his blue crayon back on to the table. "Uncle Myc and Uncle Greggie." he shouted, clapping his hands excitedly and running off into the bedroom.

John took Sherlock's hand, stilling it and removing the green crayon before interlocking their fingers and bringing it to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the knuckles.

"I'll call Greg." he said, smiling at the expression of pure love which he could never get tired of seeing on Sherlock's face.

* * *

"Uncle Myc, Uncle Greggie!" Hamish squealed, wrapping his little arms around his uncles' legs.

Greg leant down and swept up the three-year-old into a hug. "Hey there, little man." he said as Mycroft planted a kiss on the toddler's forehead.

"Sherlock. John." Mycroft nodded to the couple who stood from the sofa.

"Mycroft. Greg." Sherlock smiled, cutting to the chase, "The tumour has been beaten."


	26. 2034

"Did you remember to take his lunchbox?" Sherlock quizzed John as the doctor re-entered 221B. "And did you make sure his little toy bee was in his bag?"

John rolled his eyes at his husband. "Yes and yes, Sherlock." he replied, click on the kettle and pulling down two mugs. "He'll be absolutely fine. The school is lovely and the teacher was very understanding about the whole 'having two dads' thing."

Sherlock nodded. He'd been worried about how Hamish might be treated if and when it became common knowledge that his parents were two married men. They'd considered letting Molly take him but it just felt wrong.

Sherlock came up behind John and wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist.

"I know, John." he muttered quietly. "I just miss him."

* * *

"Dammit, Sherlock, if you don't stop pacing across this living room, I swear I am going to tie you to the bed!"

Sherlock turned and raised an eyebrow at his husband. "Really, John?" he questioned, stopping his march and approaching the doctor in the kitchen.

John turned and smiled. "Maybe."

He placed the dried dishes back in the cupboards and turned to pull Sherlock into a hug.

"It is two more hours until we need to collect Hamish." he whispered in the detective's ear.

Sherlock's voice dropped low and growling. "Bedroom."


	27. 2035

"This will probably be my last case." Greg said solemnly, taking the mug of tea that John passed to him. "We need your help with it. This guy - this rapist - he's going for a specific type and we cannot seem to work out why. Maybe fresh eyes will see something?" he looked up at Sherlock who was flicking through the case file.

John sat on the chair opposite Greg and studied the Detective Chief Inspector. He looked tired. John couldn't help thinking that his imminent retirement couldn't come soon enough, although it was clear that Greg himself disagreed.

Sherlock passed the file to John. "Of course we'll help." he said, smiling at the DCI. "You should start by looking for female teen deaths from about six months ago. Somebody fitting the type but not a victim. She'll probably be a sister or maybe a close cousin."

Greg nodded wearily.

"You two will be coming on Saturday?" he asked, finishing his tea and placing the mug down on the table.

"Of course." John replied, taking a sideways glance at his husband. "We'll both be there. And Hamish too. He's very excited about dressing up as a pirate!"

Hamish, for all John's genes, was so like Sherlock.

"We'll see you there then." Greg said, chuckling as he stood. "He'll be brilliant."


	28. 2036

John dragged the suitcase from underneath the bed and set it on the floor.

"Are you going to help Daddy pack?" he asked Hamish, pulling a selection of underwear items from the dressing table drawer.

Hamish beamed a huge smile and ran up to his bedroom. "I'll be back in a minute, Daddy!" he shouted down the stairs.

Sherlock wandered into the bedroom carrying an armful of books, and John raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"You're taking all those? You do know this is supposed to be a holiday?!"

Sherlock grinned at his husband and passed him the first book.

"Treasure Island?" John chuckled and nodded knowingly. "These are for Hamish."

"Of course." Sherlock stuck his tongue out with the childish retort and left John to continue packing.

Minutes later, Hamish reappeared with a small bulging rucksack.

"What you got in there then?" John asked, taking the offered bag and peering inside.

He pulled out a handful of toy cars, a cuddly bee and a pencil case and colouring book.

At the bottom, he slid out a much larger book.

"1001 Pirate Puzzles." Hamish announced proudly.

John laughed and re-packed the small bag as Sherlock re-entered, passing Hamish another book -'Bees, Hives, Honey. Bee-keeping for Children.'

"Did Daddy also tell you that Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg's country home also has bees?"


	29. 2037

"Daddy, Daddy!" Hamish ran into the living room of 221B, face almost splitting with the huge grin he was wearing.

He ran up to John who was typing on his tablet and handed him a piece of paper. "Look, Daddy John!" he said excitedly as John took the sheet with a smile and wrapped his son in a warm hug.

"Hi, Hamish." he said, pulling the boy onto his lap, freeing his hands to read the paper, "What's this then?"

"We had a test today." Hamish began, almost too excited to speak properly. "Mrs Adams gave us a test to see if we remembered what we had learned on our trip to the planetarium. Where's Daddy Sherlock? I want him to see this too."

"I'm here." Sherlock wandered in from the kitchen at the sound of the excited voice of his eight-year-old son. "What's all this fuss then?" he said, taking the seat on the sofa next to his husband and Hamish.

John raked his eyes over the marked test and nodded. "Uh huh." he said, his face in a fixed smirk. "That's my boy."

He passed the sheet to Sherlock. "All about the solar system, Sherlock. Look."

Hamish's face beamed as Sherlock read through.

"10 out of 10." John clarified as Sherlock continued to read. "He clearly has my brains."


	30. 2038

"You're retiring?" Greg asked, voice filled with disbelief. He never thought he would see the day when Doctor John Watson gave up being a doctor.

John nodded with a half-hearted shrug.

"I'm not getting any younger, mate." he said, lowering himself carefully into the fireside armchair. "My shoulder gives me problems more often than I'd like to admit, and it's only a matter of time before we will have to leave Baker Street anyway. Mrs Hudson's nephew..." he paused, swallowing round a lump in his throat at the mention of their beloved landlady. "... Mrs Hudson's nephew has indicated that he wants to sell the whole property as it was left to him in her will."

Mrs Hudson had passed away at the ripe old age of 95, having stayed at 221A the entire time. It wouldn't be the same without having her around, and the three of them already missed her desperately.

"We can't afford to buy the place, Greg, and when I retire, we can move out of the city and to somewhere a bit more outside space. Somewhere more... child and old person friendly." he concluded with a small chuckle.

Greg echoed his friend's laugh. John seemed happy enough with the decision.

He wished the three of them well with their new home, new life and new beginning.


	31. 2039

"Did you remember to redirect the mail?" Sherlock asked, unrolling a length of packing tape across the top of the final box.

John gave him a look that told him he probably shouldn't doubt his husband. "Sherlock. Stop worrying. It's done. Everything is done."

"The removers are here!" a small voice shouted from the stairs of 221, and Hamish came bounding up, followed by two men from the removals company Mycroft had arranged.

Sherlock stood and pulled Hamish into a one-arm embrace as he shook hands with the men. "It's all packed." he said, indicating to the many boxes stacked around 221B. "We'll leave now and will meet you at the other end."

The men nodded and began organising between themselves as John, Sherlock and Hamish headed down to the car (thank you, Mycroft, again!)

As they exited 221 for what was likely the last time, Sherlock and John looked at each other.

"End of an era." John said, his voice calm but noticeably thick with emotion.

Sherlock took his husband's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "And the start of a new one."

* * *

The car pulled up outside the country cottage with its sprawling grounds and the two men were smiling again.

Hamish bounded out of the car and ran up the garden path, shouting, "Daddy, there are bees!"


	32. 2040

The little country cottage was adorned with balloons and banners, and everywhere you looked there were pirate-themed decorations.

Hamish came downstairs, proudly dressed as Long John Silver, his favourite pirate.

Sherlock smiled at his son. He was growing up so fast. Sherlock could barely believe he was turning 11 already.

"Dad!" Hamish shouted, peering through the stained glass next to the front door. "Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg are here!"

The boy pulled open the door and ran down the driveway, wrapping his arms around his uncles and helping them to the house.

"How is my favourite nephew?" Mycroft chuckled, handing a big box over to the birthday boy.

"Uncle Mycroft." Hamish tipped his head and raised an eyebrow, imitating a look he had seen his fathers both do many times, "I am your _only_ nephew." He leant up and gave Mycroft a kiss on the cheek before giggling and beginning to pull paper from the package. "And I am great, thank you, Uncle Mycroft. I'm eleven now!"

Greg laughed and turned back to the car. "There's one more surprise for you, Hamish." he said, pulling open the back door and reaching inside.

Hamish let his eyes drift from unwrapping the present, to see what it was: _who_ it was.

His face almost split from smiling as he squealed loudly, "Molly!"


	33. 2041

"Did Gregson bring these over?" John picked up two case files from the kitchen table and started scanning through them. Two child abductions in the past 6 months, both with remarkably similar details.

John frowned. Kids. He really disliked the cases that involved kids. They always seemed a thousand times harder since they became parents. "Are we investigating these?"

Sherlock wandered through from the living room, holding a third file and handed it to John. "This is the latest one. 9-year-old boy taken in the night from his adopted parents' home."

As John placed the file on the table, Sherlock flicked the pages to what looked like a recent photograph.

He then took the other two files and opened them at similar pages.

"See any similarities?" Sherlock waved his finger between the photographs. A 9-year-old, a 7-year-old and a 6-year-old boy, all taken from adopted homes.

John sat and placed the three side-by-side, shaking his head. "What am I looking at, Sherlock?" he said, frustrated that after all these years, he still isn't as quick as Sherlock to notice the subtle connections and similarities.

Sherlock pulled up a chair next to his husband. "These children," he began, "were all in different adopted families in different parts of London."

Sherlock lined all 3 photos up. "But look," he continued, "They're all brothers!"


	34. 2042

"But Molly said I could go and stay at her house this weekend!" Hamish stomped out, slamming first the kitchen door and then his own bedroom door as he went.

John sighed and looked at Sherlock who just shrugged before adding "It might be nice for the four of us to get together without Hamish?"

It wasn't really a question, but Sherlock made it sound like one.

They saw plenty of Mycroft and Greg but usually, Hamish was around too.

He loved his uncles. It was unusual for him to want to be elsewhere when they were visiting, but he was a teenager now. Did he really want to spend a weekend surrounded by 'old men' (Hamish's words, not John's!) when he could be spending time with Molly and her son, Marcus?

"Maybe you're right, Sherlock." John conceded, re-opening the kitchen door again and mindlessly checking the inset panes of glass. "It has been a while since it was just the four of us."

Sherlock smiled at his husband and wandered over to distract him from his inspection of the door panes. "They're fine, John." he said, waving towards the glass, "It's toughened, remember."

John remembered. They'd had all the panes replaced after Sherlock shattered them with a rather explosive experiment.

Hamish was certainly growing up to be an independent boy.


	35. 2043

"He's fourteen years old, John, he'll be perfectly fine!" Sherlock reassured his husband for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. "We'll be home by 11-ish anyway. You're getting old now, my love. Can't handle late nights." he added mockingly.

John gave him a solid jab in the ribs with his elbow. "Watch who you're calling old." he said, mock-threateningly, "Mycroft is coming."

The two of them collapsed into giggles as the elder Holmes and his husband arrived at the table.

"What's so funny?" Greg asked, waving to a waiter for service as he held out the chair for Mycroft to sit. Mycroft acknowledged the gesture with an adoring smile that looked just this side of wonky, and John broke into a renewed bout of giggling.

"It's like having dinner with children." Mycroft quipped, sticking his tongue out at his brother who really wasn't trying very hard at all not to laugh.

The four of them enjoyed a long, leisurely grown-up dinner. They ate and drank and laughed and swapped memories and stories. It was just like old times.

Some considerable time (and several bottles of wine!) later, they all climbed out of the cab at Sherlock and John's home.

As the four of them wobbled precariously towards the front door, Hamish appeared, hands on hips.

"Where have you been?!"


	36. 2044

"Did you speak to Hamish?" John spoke in hushed tones, hoping their son wouldn't hear from the next room.

Sherlock looked up and smirked at his husband before returning to carving the piece of wood he had resting on the kitchen table. "I did." he replied.

John dried his hands and walked over to join Sherlock at the table, pulling the chair close to his husband's and leaning his head down, trying to engage the detective eye-to-eye.

"And?"

Sherlock raised his head and just smiled. A huge, face-splitting smile.

"What?" John asked, starting to feel a bit miffed that there was clearly something Sherlock knew that he didn't. "Did he tell you why he'd been so secretive?"

Sherlock bit his lip to stifle a chuckle and took his husband's hands. John's soft, ex-doctor hands. He loved these hands. He loved how they felt both in his own hands and on his body.

"I spoke to Hamish when he came home from school." he started, absently rubbing his thumbs across John's knuckles. "I wasn't sure if he was going to tell me anything to begin with. He seemed a bit... defensive."

John nodded. Hamish had been the same when he had tried speaking to him also.

"But he did open up eventually." Sherlock continued, smiling. "He's worried because he doesn't like boys!"


	37. 2045

"Dad, I'm off to Molly's." Hamish shouted through to the kitchen as he pulled his backpack onto his shoulder and headed out of the door. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon."

"Molly's again!" John remarked to Sherlock who was flicking through the Saturday newspaper. "It's obviously much more interesting there than it is here at the weekend."

Sherlock nodded. "Well, she does living closer to the city than we do, John." he said, as if stating the obvious. "There's rather more to do there than there is in our sleepy little village."

"S'pose so." John shrugged, pouring two teas and passing one over to his husband. "It just feels so quiet here without him. I'm kind of getting used to the whole teenager-in-the-house thing now. Loud music; mates; laundry all over the floor... girls." He glanced across at Sherlock to gauge his reaction to the latter.

"I suspect that has something to do with his disappearance, John." Sherlock said calmly, "His girlfriend does live close to Molly's. I think she's a friend of Marcus. Molly said she is a lovely girl anyway. At least she can keep an eye on them."

John humphed and stood back up from the kitchen table. "Tell you what," he began, slipping 2 pieces of bread into the toaster, "Let's go see Molly ourselves after some breakfast."


	38. 2046

"Do you ever wonder what it'll be like when I die?"

John's heart and breathing stopped, right then and there. It was almost as if he'd just been catapulted forward in time to that exact moment.

He clenched his eyes closed for a second and rolled to his side, facing Sherlock on their bed.

"Why would you even say that?" John asked, leaning forwards and placing a soft kiss on the frown lines in the centre of his husband's forehead.

Sherlock raised his eyes from John's lips to John's eyes, peering deep inside as if trying to read his soul.

"I..." he began hesitatingly, "I don't know. I was just... thinking."

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist and pulled him close, feeling Sherlock shuffle down to nuzzle into his neck.

"I can't even begin to imagine my life without you." Sherlock continued, his voice rumbling and low.

John shivered as his husband's warm breath ghosted across his shoulder making the soft hair on his chest dance, and the vibrations from his voice caused goosebumps to bubble up.

He pulled Sherlock tighter into the embrace.

"I cannot imagine not having you here either, Sherlock." he responded, only just managing to keep his voice level and unaffected by the sentiment that came with that thought.

"But we will still have our boy."


	39. 2047

Sherlock walked into the living room to find Hamish flicking through a folder, deep in thought.

"What's that?" Sherlock frowned, sitting alongside his son. It couldn't possibly be what he thought it was.

Hamish looked up at his father, his look slightly worried.

"It's a case file." he replied, spreading it out on the coffee table so Sherlock could see. "DI Gregson brought it round this morning while you and John were out. I thought I'd... take a look through it." he shrugged, unsure of whether his actions would get him into trouble or not.

Sherlock's face broke into a wide grin, and he started flicking through the pages of the file.

"So," he said finally, pushing the folder back across to his son, "what do you think then?"

Hamish met his father's gaze with an incredulous look on his face. "You want me to...?" he asked, not quite believing what he was hearing.

Sherlock nodded. "Sure. Why not? I want you to tell me what you see here. What's in this file and, just as importantly, what isn't in the file."

Hamish re-opened the folder and began leafing through again, licking his lips - something he did when he was concentrating really hard. His Dad - Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective - was asking him what he thought.

"Well," he began...


	40. 2048

Sherlock cleared his throat and straightened his tie.

The tie was fine, of course, but Sherlock's nerves were showing. Nerves and emotions. The kind of combination that a younger Sherlock Holmes would had scoffed at, but here, now, with the wisdom of years, he let both wash over him briefly before taking a deep, grounding breath and pulling himself together.

"He was a good man." Sherlock began, swallowing around the lump in his throat that threatened to take him apart at any moment.

"When we first met, he saw something in me that I didn't see myself. I was lost and alone. I was a loose cannon, a liability to myself and others. But he saw something else. He saw me. The man beneath the hard, polished veneer. The lost boy behind quick words and..." Sherlock hesitated for a moment, and Hamish reached across and put his hand on his father's arm.

"It's OK, Dad." he said calmly, giving the arm a gently squeeze of encouragement.

He could do this, just a few more words to the gathered guests and the eulogy would be over.

Sherlock dropped his head for a minute and blinked hard, clearing his eyes and his mind.

"In me, he saw a great man, and every day, I thank Greg for the good man that I became."


	41. 2049

"Sherlock?" John laid his hand on his husband's arm, trying to gently rouse him from sleep. "Sherlock?"

His voice grew more anxious as Sherlock's response remained absent. "Sherlock?"

* * *

"Is it back?" John refused to sit. He refused to do anything - eat; drink; sit; sleep - until he had answers. Concrete, certain, definitive answers.

Doctor Carter looked at him, her face serious and telling. "I'm sorry, Mr Watson-Holmes." was all she said.

John, at that point, sat. He sat quiet; silent; contemplative.

For ten, long minutes he sat in silence. And Doctor Carter, for all her years of training and her many years of experience dealing with the Watson-Holmeses, she just let him.

Finally, John straightened his back, squared his aching shoulders and spoke two short words. "How long?"

Doctor Carter sat back in her chair, took a long, deep breath and swallowed hard. "Best case scenario? A year, maybe two."

John nodded.

Of course, he knew. There was always the fear; the threat; the shadow over their lives.

The possibility that the tumour would come back.

And come back it did - with a vengeance.

He'd been suffering blurred vision, headaches and problems with mobility, but hell, Sherlock was in his seventies, none of that was unusual.

But the other things: other things had aroused suspicion.

The tumour was back.


	42. 2050

"Speech, speech, speech!" the guests started to chant. John had started it, but the party crowd had soon joined in.

They all looked to the birthday boy who stood and walked calmly onto the stage set up next to the disco. The DJ had already muted the music in preparation, and Hamish looked perfectly comfortable as he took the mic.

He nodded and waved his hands, calming the impatient crowd before he started to speak.

"OK, OK," he began, as the final few chants faded to silence.

"Firstly, let me thank you all for coming to my party." Somebody whooped, and Hamish laughed and waved. "It's been wonderful to see so many family and friends here tonight, even if it may well have been the lure of free food and drink that got them here." He winked at a group of his mates who were huddled around the bar.

"I'd also like to thank you all for the great presents. To Uncle Mycroft for the car..." he paused to jingle his keys at the mic, "... to Molly for organising this fabulous party - Uncle Greg would have approved - and to my Dads for 21 years of unconditional love and support. They are the best parents ever and I love them very much."

"This has truly been the best birthday."


	43. 2051

"You look beautiful." Molly smiled at the bride as she leant down to straighten out the skirt of the wedding dress. A few more tweaks to Abigail's hair and veil and she was ready to go.

"Nervous?" Molly asked, passing the bouquet and opening the door, standing aside to let Abby through.

"A little." Abby replied nervously.

"Big day." Molly nodded with a broad smile. An infectious smile that soon had both women giggling. "Hamish is a very lucky guy." Molly added, helping Abby into the stretch limo wedding car before turning and getting into her own.

The drive to the church was short, and the car Molly was in was also transporting Sherlock and John. The two men smiled nervously at each other, and Molly looked on fondly.

Here they were, these three, all gathered to watch their son marry.

Molly had always been an important part of Hamish's life.

Not only during pregnancy and birth, of course, but she had always been there for him.

Every step; every milestone; every life event, Molly had been there to support Sherlock, John and Hamish.

Now, they were preparing to let him go.

Let him walk down the aisle into a new life of his own.

A life with Abby.

She reached over a took Sherlock and John's hands.

"Another new beginning."


	44. 2052

"I've brought your magazines, Myc." Hamish opened his uncle's front door and entered the lounge carrying an armful of small periodicals.

"Ahhh, thank you, Hamish." Mycroft replied, welcoming the man inside with open arms.

"I haven't read them yet." Hamish continued, putting the magazines down on the coffee table, "Did you want a drink before we read?"

Mycroft smiled fondly. He loved his Fridays with Hamish. He had been worried that his nephew would no longer wish to spend time with him now that he was married, but those fears had been unfounded. Hamish still turned up, regular as clockwork, at 10am on a Friday and they read through the weekly magazines together.

"Tea, please, Hamish." he replied, grabbing the first magazine from the pile.

Hamish set about making two cups of tea in the small kitchen of Mycroft's annex that stood alongside Sherlock and John's home.

As he wandered back into the lounge a few minutes later, Mycroft was hmm-ing to himself as he read. "Did you see this?" he asked, turning a page around to face Hamish as he sat down. "They've found a new cancer treatment. Apparently it can cut months off treatment times."

"Yeah." Hamish nodded. He'd seen something about it on the news. He knew it was too late for his Dad though. "It's a breakthrough."


	45. 2053

"He looks just like John, Dad." Hamish said, passing their newborn across to Sherlock. "He has Dad's eyes."

Sherlock smiled from his hospital bed. His eyesight was failing now: the growth of the tumour meaning that he had little vision left. That, coupled with his poor balance and mobility problems, meant that he was mostly bedridden now with 24 hour care.

Hamish and Abby had brought little baby Toby to see him at just 4 days old. He was a little bundle of John with baby blue eyes that had just a hint of Watson, and John's blond hair.

He passed little Toby back to Hamish and a tear welled up in Sherlock's tired eyes, mirrored by a tear of sympathy in John's.

John took Sherlock's hand and gave it a loving squeeze.

"I'm here, my love." he said, nestling his cheek against his husband's.

Sherlock nodded. He knew he didn't have long left, but now he had lived to see the Watson-Holmes family line continue, he was content.

He'd lived a good life. Life with John and life with Hamish.

Never in his wildest dreams could he have ever imagined his life turning out so happy and fulfilled.

He had everything he could wish for and now it was time. Time to move on.

Sherlock Holmes had been truly blessed.


	46. 2054

"I was so alone, and I owe you so much. Do you remember the first time I said those words, Sherlock?"

John looked around at the closed casket beside him.

Beautiful New England oak wood adorned with flowers and a photo of the younger detective. He must have been in his late 40's when that photo was taken. Just before they were married.

John smiled an awkward smile at the picture. Sherlock had always looked like that to John. From his 30s up until 78, John had always seen the same youthful, unruly mop of dark curls, even long after those curls had turned grey.

"You gave me everything, Sherlock. You gave me purpose; a reason to live. You gave me love like no other, you gave me family and you gave me a son."

John stopped a moment to look up and smile at Hamish who was sat in the front row with Abigail and little Toby.

"The years we had together were better than I ever could have imagined or hoped for, and the legacy you leave behind, our son and grandson, is truly a blessing."

John glanced at Mycroft, sat on the other side of Hamish, twirling his umbrella around. He caught the man's eye and smiled.

"And Sherlock," he continued, "We shall all look after your brother."


	47. 2055

"Who'd have thought that a two-year-old would have so much stuff?!" John Watson-Holmes exclaimed, lugging in yet another box from Hamish and Abby's family car.

Abby looked sheepish. "Sorry, John." she said, leaning over and giving him a peck on the cheek, "Babies do seem to accumulate so much stuff."

John gave a weary chuckle. "It's fine really." he responded, setting the box down in what was now the playroom. "Sherlock's stuff took up so much space that, now he's gone..." he hesitated, waiting for the hitch in his voice to pass before he could carry on, "... now he's gone," he continued, "there is more space than I know what to do with."

Hamish nodded and dropped another box labelled "Toby's Toys" down in the playroom. "And we'll be here to look after you, Dad." he added.

John smiled. Truth be known, he had hated being alone in the 18 months since Sherlock had gone. Even though Hamish and family visited regularly and Mycroft was just next door, the cottage was so quiet after they'd gone that John thought he might go insane.

"I'm happy to have you all here." John said as Hamish came back in carrying Toby in his car seat. "It will be lovely to have the house once again filled with sounds of a little boy."


	48. 2056

John looked across the churchyard.

It was beautiful. Well-kept grass, dotted with floral tributes and polished headstones.

Sherlock was laid to rest beneath a soft, grey marble stone. Alongside was a space: John's space.

He carefully stooped to lay the purple flower against the headstone. He smiled at the deep-coloured bloom. It reminded him of _that_ shirt. There had always been a running joke between them about _that _ purple shirt, and the colour had become almost symbolic of their relationship and the passion between them.

John grunted, reaching for Hamish's hand as he stood. He smiled at his son. He couldn't imagine how he could have continued if it wasn't for Hamish.

_Same went for Mycroft _, he thought. His nephew had been Mycroft's reason for living after he'd lost both Greg and Sherlock.

Hamish took his father's arm as they both walked over to the newly covered-over grave.

The headstone next to it was older; more weathered: Greg's. John brushed a hand over it, removing the fine layer of dry summer dust.

The new stone alongside shone in comparison. It shone amongst all the darkness of grief.

Despite Hamish and Abigail's presence, John suddenly found himself feeling very alone.

It was as if his old life was gone. No Sherlock, no Greg, no Mycroft.

Once more, he felt left behind.


	49. 2057

John smiled from his armchair next to the fire. The union flag cushion in his hand was old; worn; well-loved. Like John himself.

He watched little Toby playing with his cars on the fireside rug. He looked so like Hamish at that age. So small; so innocent: the naivety of youth.

Toby glanced up from his makeshift road and gave John a beaming smile.

"You look sad, Grandad." he said, getting up from the floor and climbing up on to John's lap. John wrapped a loving arm around his grandson and pulled him close.

"Actually," he started, tickling Toby playfully on the tummy, making him giggle and squirm, "I am quite content. It makes me happy having you here with your Mummy and Daddy, Toby."

Toby nodded with a knowing beyond his four years.

"I like being here too, Grandad." he replied, jumping back off John's lap and running back to his cars.

John gave a soft chuckle. He couldn't imagine what life would have been like without having Hamish, Abigail and Toby.

His family were the silver lining; the ray of sunshine on his grey, cloudy days.

They showed unending love, hope and life, and John felt lucky to have them in his life.

Laughter, noise and joy of youth lifted his spirits during his darker moments.

He felt blessed.


	50. 2058 - The Final ChapterYear

John opened his eyes and looked up at Hamish, his eyes glazed and red.

"Hamish." he croaked wearily, lifting his hand and placing it atop his son's on the bedsheet.

"Hey, Dad." Hamish replied hoarsely, interlocking their fingers and squeezing gently.

John gave a weak smile. He recognised the look on his son's face. John was dying.

"Don't..." he began, briefly closing his eyes and swallowing, with difficulty, around the lump in his throat. "... please don't, Hamish."

His son nodded silently, giving John the chance to continue.

"I've lived a good life, Hamish. Your Dad was the best thing that ever happened to me. Even during our worst times..." he paused. There was so much hurt in those early years that it almost overwhelmed him to think about it. "... even then, we always came back to each other. And then there was you. You brought us so much joy. You and Abby and Toby made my life worth living after your Dad..." another pause, both for breath and to compose himself "... after your Dad left us."

"Dad." Hamish placed his free hand on John's arm, stopping him from saying more. "I love you, Dad. We all do. You... and Sherlock... you were the best parents that anybody could ever wish for. I love you, Dad. You're the best."


End file.
